


Savile Row

by junojelli



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, London, Older Man/Younger Woman
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2018-09-26
Packaged: 2019-02-19 22:43:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13133742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/junojelli/pseuds/junojelli
Summary: Renly Baratheon and Loras Tyrell have decided upon a festive shotgun wedding, and are insistent that Stannis simply cannot wear his old suit to their nuptuals.Stannis relents and makes an appointment at Redwyne & Rose on Savile Row for a private fitting for a custom tailored suit.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tommyginger](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tommyginger/gifts), [Sarah_Black](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarah_Black/gifts).



> And here goes my first multichapter fic! Constructive criticism always welcome, all mistakes my own. Half of this is written with sleep deprived baby brain - so apologies of it's a bit shit.
> 
> Posting the first chapter tonight, hoping to get it all done by New Year!
> 
> This is for Tommyginger who I have been promising to write this for about a year. IT'S HAPPENING.
> 
> All characters and the ASOIAF universe belong to GRRM. I'm just playing with the toys in the sandbox for a bit.
> 
> This is a Stannis/Sansa fic, so if the idea of an older man/younger woman relationship doesn't sit with you, probably leave this one out.

Whilst his brothers could wax lyrical about how fun a festive wedding would be, Stannis was less than amused. Where Renly took the piss, _as Shireen would put it_ , was telling him that he needed to a new suit for said occasion. Unsurprisingly, Renly and Loras had decided to make their relationship official in a way that would inconvenience the majority of their family friends. _Did they not appreciate that most families, even divorced ones were incredibly busy in December?_ It was by far the busiest billing month at Baratheon Enterprises, and Stannis frankly resented that not only would he have to shoulder the usual burden of Robert's work, but Renly's as well whilst he dabbled at playing wedding coordinator.

London in early October could be rather mild and dry; the trail end of an Indian summer. Making the most of the good weather, Renly’s engagement party was located in an extravagant roof bar and garden in Kensington. He ordered a G&T from the bar as he would not be partaking in the _ridiculous_ cocktails which were being walked around by the waiting staff. He was sure he had seen a sign which said one of them was called a ‘Porn Star’, and another named ‘Sex on the Beach’. It would not be _decent_ to be seen drinking one of these concoctions in a public setting.

Taking his glass, he scanned the club for any familiar faces he could maintain a tolerable conversation with. He hated small talk, and a result tried to avoid cocktail parties and networking events like the plague. Davos had declined to come with him, saying something that Stannis needed to find a new ‘plus one’, and mentioning some parents evening for one of his sons. Not seeing anyone he could tolerate making idle chit chat with, he decided that Dutch courage would be needed to make it through the evening. Checking he was not being observed, he finished his drink in one, and ordered a second. Just as he turned around to start making his way through the crowd towards some of his Estermont cousins he saw sitting in a booth, he was accosted by one of the men of the moment, namely his younger brother.

‘Stannis! You came! And you are on your second drink! Don’t lie, I saw you neck that first one!’ Renly grinned as he gently punched Stannis’ arm. _Couldn’t he be greeted like a normal human being?_ Rather than deigning his brother with a response, he ground his teeth and took a more measured sip of his drink as Renly leant against the bar and scanned the room.

'Oh, Loras and I were speaking on our way over here, and we decided that you simply cannot wear that black suit you have had for years. I won't allow it', Renly had slurred, sloshing his martini whilst trying to fish out an errant olive that had escaped the cocktail stick. 'Its bad karma wearing a suit you wore to your own disastrous marriage to another wedding. Besides, if you are wanting to get back in the game, you should be investing in a custom tailored suit.'

Before Stannis could even start about the frivolous expense of tailored suits and that he did have more than a single multipurpose suit, he was thumped on the back by his older brother, Robert.

'Stannis back in the game?! HA. The only dates he's had in years is with his left hand!' Robert boomed, finding himself (of course) hilarious. Several people in the nearby vicinity turned and looked at them. Gods. _Bloody Robert keep your mouth shut with insinuations about my private life._ Not wanting to bring further attention to himself, Stannis glared at his overweight older brother and tried to restrain himself from throttling what little neck Robert had left, that hadn’t turned into a second chin.

'Look, Stan, just go to Olenna's and get measured. Redwyne and Rose are doing both mine and Loras' suits, and they will cut you a good deal on the price. And their style is much more you than those off the peg places you insist on going to’ said Renly as he slid a business card into the breast pocket of his suit jacket, then lightly prodding him on his pect as if to test it’s firmness, before raising his eyebrows and shrugging nonchalantly. _Were his brothers colluding to try to make him leave this party as quickly as possible?_

Stannis clenched his jaw, frowning at his younger brother. He insisted on calling him ' _Stan_ ' because apparently it made him more relatable. At least it was a step up from Robert calling him Stanny. And there was nothing wrong with the well respected off the peg places. Having a made to measure tailored suit was just excessively indulgent, in his mind. He might go to one, perhaps two occasions a year that warranted a dinner jacket, and he had a perfectly serviceable one at home. There was no need for a new one.

'Oh yes, you should definitely go to Redwyne's. Last time I was there Maragery did the trouser fitting and you would not BELIEVE what she tried to measure-'

'ROBERT!' he huffed, whilst Renly just snorted, rolling his eyes.

'Ok I embellish, but I swear she kept eye contact the entire time she measured my inseam’ Robert chortled, slapping Stannis on the back again, making his drink slosh over the rim. _Why did he have to have such insufferable siblings?_

'Look, Stan, just give them a ring and book in a fitting. I'll cover the cost if you are going to be a miser about it'.

'Come to think of it, isn't Ned's daughter working there with Margaery?' Robert interjected, snagging another flute of champagne off a passing waitress' tray whilst ogling her backside as she walked on.

'Oh yes, she's been doing my fittings last week when I popped in. She's just superb, she walked straight in as a pattern cutter at Alexander McQueen after completing her degree at Central St Martins. Olenna has managed to snag her with a promise of some studio space,' Renly continued whilst finally giving up on the awol olive and downing his drink in one.

He cast his mind back to the last time he had seen any of the Stark children. Robert and Ned had been at boarding school together and then room mates at university, leading to Robert considering Ned 'part of the family'. Every August bank holiday Robert would invite the entire Stark brood to Storm's End for the annual Baratheon family barbeque. He had seen the most of Robb, Ned's eldest who was currently completing his training contract at Tully & Arryn in the City. He vaguely remembered quite a pretty girl with Catelyn's looks at a barbeque several years ago, and thought that must be who Renly and Robert were referring to. He hadn't spent much time in the company of the Stark brood to form any kind of assessment or opinion on the girl. Hopefully she would be quiet and serious like Ned and just get on with it. A new suit couldn't be that bad? He would view it as a necessary investment, and it would get Renly off his back for the time being.

It must have been the fact he was on his second G&T and in a good mood about the quarterly sales reports he had read that afternoon which made Stannis uncharacteristically decided to relent and give in to his younger brother's demands, if only it would give him a moment's peace.

'Fine, I'll have my secretary make an appointment next week. Speak with Loras and make sure the old bat doesn't charge me any rush order fees. I won't be spending a small fortune on this’.

'Good on you, Stanny. Turning a new leaf? Why don't you get your secretary to sign you up for Tinder whilst she's at it? It's free you know, and you should get mileage out of a new custom suit' Robert grinned whilst waggling his bushy eyebrows at him.

'What is Tinder, might I ask?' he groaned, massaging the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.

As usual, both of his brothers broke out in drunken hysterics, the joke lost on Stannis, making him grind his teeth even more. 


	2. Tuesday Lunchtime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stannis arrives for his fateful first fitting at Redwyne & Rose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M ALIVE. Just.
> 
> Thank you for being so patient with the big delay on this chapter - real life got in the way and twins seem to know when you're about to sit down to write a chapter.
> 
> Anyhow, here is number two!

Holding the small business card for Redwyne and Rose with his appointment details on the reverse, Stannis stepped out of his cab at the bottom end of Savile Row on a rainy Tuesday lunchtime. Across the street he could hear the low bass thumping of what he at first thought was some strange nightclub within an old bank building on he corner. Upon closer inspection, he spied a gaggle of pubescent girls standing on the porch clutching shopping bags from some brand that Myrcella and Shireen seemed to like, excitedly queuing to have a photograph taken with some half naked man in denim with foppish hair. _Where in the seven hells has Renly sent me?_ The Savile Row of Stannis’ memory was an upmarket street containing the paradigms of men’s tailoring in London where his father and Grandfather’s would visit annually. Much like the rest of the city, old institutions had made way for new global brands cashing in on London’s heritage. ‘Such a waste,’ he muttered under his breath as he adjusted his umbrella and started to walk up the street in search of his soon-to-be brother-in-law’s familial enterprise.

The Tyrells, an old family from Cambridgeshire established in horse breeding had married in to the Redwyne family whose speciality was fashion and fine menswear tailoring. Olenna had taken over the family business many years before, and had a penchant for indulgent tailoring and fripperies. Stannis decided it would take all of his patience not to be tricked in to some ridiculous silk lining that would cost him a month’s salary.

He stopped outside the shop front, looking at the general decor of the windows. Three tailoring mannequins stood in the window, the left-most wearing some modern take on a household cavalryman’s coat, the central wore a maroon smoking jacket similar to what he had seen Loras wearing at the engagement party the previous week, and the right-most wearing a half finished morning dress coat, waistcoat and trouser. The shop itself was unassuming, tasteful even, with gold transfer lettering across the window announcing ‘Redwyne & Rose – Exquisite Tailoring for the Modern Man’.

Hoping his first impression when Renly had badgered him to book in a fitting would be pleasantly wrong, Stannis straightened himself, running a hand backwards across his rain dampened hair before taking the few steps up to the main entrance.

A small, old-fashioned bell rang as he opened the door and closed it behind him. There was a large cashier’s desk and measuring table was located in the centre of the shop, surrounded by an array of different jackets, waistcoats and trousers on various racks and tables. A small, mousey haired girl was stood at the central table, hunched over a large book with a phone in her hand, apparently booking in a fitting for a customer on he phone. He walked over to the table, impatiently waiting for the girl to finish her phone call, whilst grinding his teeth and looking at some ridiculous jackets with brocade all over the arms on a nearby rack. _Who wore such things?_

‘Would you like to try one on, Sir? Or are you just browsing?’ came a voice from over Stannis’ right shoulder. The girl must have finished her phone call and thought he was here to try on one of _those_ jackets. _Gods_.

‘What? No!’ he spluttered, dropping the sleeve of the silly jacket as if it had suddenly burnt him. He scowled at the girl and her silly notion that he was some sort of dandy who would wear such things. ‘I have a fitting booked for 12.30. Baratheon.’

The girl raised a single eyebrow at him whilst flicking to the correct page in the appointment book. She scanned across the various columns before settling on one.

‘ _Stannis Baratheon_?’ she inquired, scrutinising him as if he were some riff-raff that had walked in off street. _Impertinent woman_. Stannis clenched his jaw and half glared at her.

‘Yes. How many Baratheons could there possibly be?’ he retorted testily. The girl cocked her hip out, rested her hand on it and tilted her chin up, displaying some clear attitude he was sure he had once seen on Cersei Lannister.

‘Well, you would be the third on our books so I need to make sure who you are, so you get the correct tailor’ she replied haughtily, meeting his glare. ‘It says here you are with Sansa, she is just upstairs gathering her notes, I’ll let her know you have arrived.’ With a flick of her hair she strutted across to an adjoining hallway with a large sweeping staircase and disappeared from view.

After that minor verbal altercation, Stannis was tempted to just slink out of the shop unnoticed. He knew he wouldn’t last the best part of two hours in this damned shop if all the staff were like that girl. However, it was raining harder outside now, and he wouldn’t hear the end of it from Renly if he caught wind that he had bailed. Besides, Stannis was not one who would _slink_ away like some alley cat. He decided to inspect some ghastly looking bright coloured jackets with tassel lapels on another rack which seemed completely out of place with the remainder of the room. There was a fluorescent pink one with silver brocade. It was hideous. He looked at the price tag, ‘ _Sgt Pepper Tribute IV’_ it proudly announced, underneath a smaller note stating the jacket started at £700. _Good lord._

‘Would you like to try it on, Sir? I can see if we have a fitting room available,’ asked a voice that startled him. He turned around and saw that it belonged to a portly older woman with large spherical glasses, who seemed to have appeared out of thin air somewhere by the tie rack. He would have growled at her if it had not been for her genuine polite smile. _It wasn’t her fault he was disgruntled_.

‘ _No_ thank you. I am waiting for a fitting. With, umm, Sansa,’ he stuttered, attempting to swallow any potential rudeness on his part. He held his fidgety hands together.

‘Oh, lovely! I’m sure she will be right down in a few moments. Is this your first fitting at Redwyne & Rose?’ asked the kindly woman as she adjusted a tape measure around her neck.

‘Uhm, yes. Yes it is,’ Stannis replied, wondering if he sounded as uncomfortable as he probably looked. _He hated small talk with strangers_.

‘Wonderful! Sansa will take good care of you, she’s great with first timers. She’ll get you relaxed and comfortable in no time.’

Stannis’ mind raced back to vague memories of a pretty auburn-haired girl, well turned out, and politely spoken. He recalled she was like Ned in countenance, but like her mother, Catelyn in appearance. His mind then flashed to some very _illicit_ thoughts about Sansa, and ‘first timers’. He scowled, hoping it would hide the probable blush creeping on to his cheeks.

‘Ah, fantastic, here she is! I’ll leave you two to it…’ -the assistant sauntered off.

A gradually audible click-clack of heels came from the direction of the staircase in the adjoining hall. Slowly, two long legs in some smart tailored straight legged trousers came into view, followed by a torso wearing a matching jacket and black t-shirt, displaying a mere hint of cleavage, followed by a head that closely resembled Catelyn Tully in her university days. Her hair was swept up into a high ponytail, which swayed as she walked towards him, in time with the tape measure around the lapel of her jacket. She was still looking in a leather-bound notepad, holding a pencil in hand as she flipped through the pages.

As she approached, he revised his first thought about her appearance. Yes, she had the colouring of Catelyn, but her face (from what he could see of it) was more refined; regal almost. She was on the taller side for a woman, and slender. She looked up from her notepad as she tidied it into her jacket pocket and made eye contact with him.

_Gods_. _She’s lovely._

They were blue, like his. But lighter, clearer. His were darker, near navy.

A hint of a smile broke on to her lips; her eyes smiled at him too. _Genuine_.

He couldn’t help to think how on earth did Ned Stark manage to produce a daughter so good looking. He was not divinely handsome, and whilst Catelyn was pretty, she wasn’t a head turned.

_And he was about to be in a private room with her for the next hour. Whilst she measured him._ His throat was unbearably dry. _Damn Renly._

‘I’m so sorry to keep you waiting, I thought I would just check to see if you had an account here like Renly, but it says you’re new,’ she politely explained. She held out her right hand to shake his, his body thankfully on autopilot as he had lost the ability to speak. He swallowed thickly, trying to coat his throat in some sort of moisture, not that it worked.

‘Yes, first time here. Renly insisted,’ he half growled at her, his throat sounding all gravelly and dry, much deeper than usual.

She blinked a couple of times as she held his hand, lips slightly apart.

_Don’t be rude to her,_ he grouched inwardly, obviously frightening the poor woman from her reaction. She swallowed too, before righting herself and letting go of his hand. _Idiot_ he cursed himself.

‘Not a problem. I understand that you are a busy man, so we can get started right away,’ she continued to smile at him. _She was obviously being polite._ Stannis was no good with small talk, especially around attractive, lovely women.

He nodded at her, as she turned and walked towards the assistant with large spherical glasses from before.

‘Genna, which fitting rooms are free?’

‘Oh, we’ve kept number 2 open,’ she smiled at Sansa, then looking at Stannis over her shoulder. She went on to explain, ‘it’s the nicest room for when it’s your first time!’ She grinned at him like a Cheshire Cat. _I bet Renly and Loras have set her up_.

He followed Sansa, mesmerised by the gentle sway of her beautiful auburn hair (and definitely _not_ her well-shaped rear, which was made to look quite peachy in her tailored trousers). She held open a smart mahogany door for him, as he stepped inside.

The small room with a frosted window had a large triptych mirror, slightly angled on the floor behind a small raised platform. Several mannequins stood in one corner, with a large chesterfield sofa in the corner, and a desk stacked high with fabric sample books.

She closed the door behind them, locked it, and turned the light on.

‘Great. If you wouldn’t mind taking your jacket off, we can get started.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a meanie!
> 
> I promise next chapter we'll find out if Stannis dresses left or right.
> 
> The loud noisy store at the bottom of Savile Row is Abercrombie & Fitch. The locals weren't best pleased when it opened. I worked there as fashion police for the staff one summer when I was at university. Yes, there is a topless man who stands at the front of the store, flexes his muscles, and you can have a photo with him. I had to pick out his jeans and flip-flops each morning.


	3. The Consultation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stannis endures through his first bespoke tailoring consultation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH MY GOODNESS HOW IS IT 7 MONTHS SINCE I LAST UPDATED? Thank you to all for bearing with me whilst writer's block struck, babies were screechy and I had no time to write. Here is a longer chapter!

‘Usually at a bespoke consultation we start by having a brief interview with our new clients, so that we better understand their own personal style and taste,’ said Sansa as she took the proffered suit jacket and put it one of the mannequins in the corner. Stannis stood still watching her as she moved about the room, barely registering that she was speaking to him.

As she turned around, she gave a slight pause, evidently noticing that he had been staring at her again. _Shit._ She clasped her hands in front of her before continuing,

‘But if you are busy, Mr Baratheon, we can skip that section and have a brief discussion whilst I take your measurements. Would that be better?’ A gentle curve of a smile came to her face.

’Stannis’ he blurted out. _Imbecile_. He wasn’t usually this incoherent around women, even beautiful ones.

‘Pardon?’ she blinked.

‘My name is Stannis.’ He swallowed. _Really bloody suave_ he thought. What had gotten into him? He cleared his throat.

‘I believe we have met before at one of Robert’s barbeques, so we can dispense with the pleasantries and be on first name terms. And it will avoid any confusion considering my brothers also have accounts here.’

She unclasped her hands and walked over to him and smiled. It was like the sun breaking through the wet clouds on a grey London day, much like the present weather outside the window.

‘Of course! It is very good to meet you again, Stannis.’ She gestured to the small platform in front of the mirror. He silently understood his instruction to stand on it, her eyes following the breadth of his shoulders in his business shirt, before she smiled up at him again. Sansa was a tall lady, especially in the heeled court shoes she was wearing. Stannis still had a couple of inches on her at the same level, and upon stepping up, towered over her again giving him a better view of the hint of cleavage he could see at the top of her t shirt. A small. Dark part of his inner psyche enjoyed the attentive way she was looking up at him, with a gentle smile on her face, her light blue eyes clear and cheerful and _eager_. It made him think of other ways in which she may look up at him like that, eager to please. He felt a gentle twitch below the belt, and the tight feel of his boxers against himself. Now was not the time to be springing random hard-ons, particularly when in a private room with the door locked, with a beautiful young lady who was about to take his measurements.

_Jesus, hold yourself together_.

 ‘I must say, I was very pleased when Renly told me at the party that you would be a client. It’s not every day you get to tailor for a friend, especially on the ‘Row’ she smiled and pulled a small side table closer, placing her notepad, pencil and tape measure on it.

‘You were at the party?’ he inquired, eyes still watching her like a hawk ready her tools on the table. He didn’t see her at Renly’s party, yet that infernal club had been so packed he wasn’t surprised. He hadn’t stayed for very long, only long enough to mark the occasion for Renly so he wouldn’t be whined at for months on end.

‘I was, Renly went to find you but said that you had left early. I arrived a little late from a fitting that overran.’ She smiled up at him again, whilst flicking through her notepad to a new page containing a blank body of a man, front and back.

‘Well, that explains it.’ His semi-hard boner was still present. He willed it to go away before she started to measure him. _Think of Robert in speedos._

‘So today I will take your measurements which will form the base for your first fitting. We tend to allow some room in these measurements, usually up to a centimetre or half inch around the chest and waistline for fluctuations. Would you say that your body shape fluctuates often or stays about the same size and shape throughout the year?’ she began, holding her tape measure and a pencil.

_Size and shape fluctuating? Around the waistline?!_ Stannis felt his face grow very warm and his palms moisten.

‘Ungghh…’

She paused and smiled at him, believing he was out of his depth. ‘Does your weight go up and down during the year or do you stay level?’

‘Level. I don’t put on weight like Robert. I work out.’ _What is wrong with me?_ Telling her ‘I work out’?! What game was his mouth playing? Who had taken control of it?

He noticed a slight blush rise up Sansa’s porcelain neck and across the small patch of chest he could see. ‘I can see that’ she murmured, the corner of her mouth turning up. Her eyes sparkled at him in amusement.

_Thankfully,_ his boner had gone right down in embarrassment at his _terrible_ small talk. At least he wouldn’t have to worry about that. He resolved himself to _shut up_ for the rest of the fitting, and to ignore the close presence of beautiful, young lady in the room, with only the fabric of his clothes separating her hands from his body.

‘Since I’m standing up, I’ll start with your torso and work my way down your body to your hem, if that’s ok?’

_Down his body?_ He swallowed before answering.

‘Yes, that is acceptable.’

‘Perfect! If you stand up straight and face the central mirror, I’ll get started. It may be easier if you loosen or take off your tie whilst I take collar measurements.’

Stannis turned and frowned at his reflection. He didn’t slouch, his posture was always impeccable. He loosened the knot on his tie and took it fully off, smoothing the satin as he went. He gently handed it Sansa who laid it around his suit jacket in the corner whilst he undid the top two buttons of his shirt whilst turning back to face his reflection.

Sansa came up on to the box behind him with her tape measure, starting with placing the tape across the stretch of his back along the yoke of shirt. She measured 3 times, before writing down the measurement in the notepad on the table. She worked silently at first, measuring from nape to waist, and around the tops of his arms. He worked hard to keep his breathing at a steady rhythm, trying to focus on the gentle sounds of rain pattering against the window and not on the close proximity of the tailoress before him.

‘Stannis. Would you say that your style is more traditional and classic, given the suit you are currently wearing?’ Sansa asked as she double checked a measurement.

‘Yes.’

‘Great.’ She moved around to his front and smiled at him. ‘I’ll now take your collar measurement, your shoulder, chest and waist measurements, followed by your arms.’

Not sure if he should trust himself to speak, he gave a silent stern nod to her. With one hand, she slipped the tape measure around his neck, still maintaining eye contact with him, before she looped it around his neck, just below the apple of his throat. Having not been that close to a woman in _months_ , nor used to such gentle touches from one, he swallowed deeply, still fixated on her face. The bob of his throat drew her gaze from his eyes down to the tape measure, where she pulled it to gently rest around his neck. She took note of the measurement, before loosening the loop, and measuring a second time to confirm the number. She smiled and squatted down to the little side table to write down the measurement.

He noticed the front of his boxers becoming tight again, no doubt from all the gentle _touching_ from Sansa and her close proximity. He willed his crotch to behave as she continued to take measurements of his chest, gently smoothing the tape measure across the stretch of his shirt. The bold part of his mind (usually locked away firmly in his brain and not allowed to run riot could have sworn he noticed a slight blush to her neck as she chewed the corner of her soft plump limps as she inspected his body closely…

_Behave_. _She’s Ned Stark’s daughter._ He resolved to look at his reflection in the mirror and to try to tune her presence out. Yet trying to focus on his reflection in the mirror, he could see _her_ reflection, and a perfectly unhindered view of her toned derriere in those trousers. He swallowed again ( _why was his mouth so dry?)_ and decided to inspect his hairline, which disgruntled him every morning when he went to shave. Stannis unfortunately inherited the premature greying and receding hairline from his father, whilst Robert and Renly both inherited his mother’s genepool of thick, luscious (‘fabulous’ as Renly called it) hair that held its colour. Yet another low blow dealt to him, as usual. He frowned at himself, half glaring at his reflection, whilst Sansa leant in closer and threaded the tape around his waist and smoothed it firmly over him.

Why wasn’t Sansa making him feel _relaxed_ and _comfortable_ as the other lady had assured him half hour ago? He was sweating like he was at Ascot in midsummer and unable to take his jacket off, his crotch was determined to make a mockery of him, and Sansa just kept smiling at him and touching him. _Jesus._

He swallowed again, watching her movements in the mirror as she bent over to read the measure, her pert arse on display in her reflection Stannis wasn’t sure how much more he could take of this.

‘Great; torso measurements all done. Now your waist measurement and we’ll begin on the trousers.’

_Fuck_.

With all the resolve he could manage, Stannis tried to not look down and meet her eyes as she knelt on the little platform between his feet. Closing his eyes, he tried to think of anything that would ensure he stayed deflated below the belt. He didn’t want to take the young ladies’ eye out.

Stannis cycled through his internal bank of disliked memories, deciding to settle on that time Robert decided to try it on with Selyse on their first Christmas married at Storm’s End. It turned out it was all for ‘banter’ and a wager with Jaime Lannister of all people, yet the humiliating experience had left a sour taste in his mouth, one that tainted his marriage with his ex-wife. Grinding his teeth and glaring at his reflection, he was content that he had managed to regain control of his body, focussing on himself again in the mirror.

‘Ok, to get the correct measurement, I’ll need you to take off your belt so I can get the tape flush around your hips.’

The room was silent whilst he paused, trying to find the appropriate words to say.

‘Right’.

Taking a deep breath, and trying not to look down to his buckle, and see her kneeling attentively, he blindly fumbled for the strap, unbuckling, and pulling out his belt. She took it out of his hands and put it out of sight range of the mirror.

‘Do you usually do your belt up so tight with your trousers? I believe you may need to go down a waist size. You’re quite slim, and I think we can get you a better fit.’

He had a coughing fit in response, and was forced to look down at her, on her knees, holding a measure around his waist.

‘Yes. This is an off the peg suit, I usually just buy the same size whenever I need new items.’

She looked up from noting down a measurement and smiled at him.

‘Not to worry. I think we can go down an inch at least, tailor it to fit better around the back, and put some pleats in the front.’

‘…pleats?’

‘Yes. It would taper the waistline better and show off your thighs.’

‘My thighs?’

She smiled demurely up at him again, her eyes flashing a hint of blue.

‘Now, a bit of a personal question…’

Stannis froze. What the _hell_ was she going to ask him, in such a position? To take his trousers off? If she could _assist_ him? He felt the tightness in his pants again. _Jesus, not now…_

Sansa swallowed, seemingly avoiding eye contact with him and focussed her attention on the tape measure around his waist.

‘Yes?’

‘Are you wearing typical underwear that you would normally wear every day?’

‘…excuse me?’

Sansa looked down, seemingly blushing up her porcelain neck again.

‘I’m sorry, it’s an odd question. With the classic fit I believe will suit you best, I need to know if I should allow space for your usual underwear.’

‘Oh.’ It was Stannis’s turn to swallow thickly. ‘I…. I wear boxer briefs.’

‘Great, thank you’. She made a note of it.

Far too quickly for his liking, she placed the tape measure back on him, very close to his crotch and smoothed the length of it down his thigh. He watched as she gently bit one of her rosebud lips with her teeth in concentration, as she measured a second time, and scribbled down his inseam measurement. She paused with the pencil, and seemed to be focussed on his shoelaces.

‘Ok, Stannis. Nearly done. I have a couple of measurements left. I’m sorry… but some men find these ones…. uncomfortable.’

If Sansa had looked up, she would have been met with the ashen face of her client, looking down at her in, with a single eyebrow raised, frown lines prominent between his brow.

Stannis swallowed thickly. ‘Yes?’

Readjusting the tape measure in her hand, Sansa sat back on her heels and looked up at him, meeting his gaze.

‘Crotch measurement, hip, seat, front and back rise. And we’re done.’

The air in the room seemed to still. Stannis was rendered deaf to his wider surroundings, anything but _her._ Having her measure his crotch would amount to the most amount of action he had had with a woman in months. And no one quite as striking as _her._

He must have spoken, given her his assent in some way as she immediately went about her business. Not trusting his body once more, given that all the blood in his body had conveniently left his brain and migrated south, rendering him deaf and mute, he focussed on his reflection once more in the mirror, trying to ignore the gentle touches of her hand, trying to tune in to the sound of the raindrops against the window pane, and the scratch of pencil against paper, rather than the hammering of his pulse. He didn’t dare move, speak or even look at Sansa until she had given some indication that she was finished with her work.

It seemed an eternity whilst Sansa took the measurements, moving behind him, measuring across his buttocks, and then she moved back around to the front and reached _between_ his legs with the tape and measured him from his belt down under and up to his buckle. He was forced to grind his teeth to not look down at her right by his flies. The reflection of her kneeling in this position in the fitting mirror, with the back of her head in line with his crotch wasn’t helping matters either.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she put the tape around the lapel of her jacket, put the pencil in the fold of her book, and pulled the elastic woven band around it to keep it closed. She shuffled backwards off the platform and stood up.

‘Great, thank you for that. All done on the business end, now time for the fun part.’

He released his tension in on long outward breath, his shoulders relaxing slightly. He watched in the mirror as Sansa moved to the chesterfield sofa in the corner of the room, and pulled several large books with a rope handle on the binder that had been propped up against the side, and placed them on the centre of the of the sofa cushions. Following her lead, he stepped off the fitting platform and moved to join her.

She looked up from the books of fabric, with the most serene smile, her blue eyes reflecting the smile on her lips. She leant across and patted the sofa, inviting him to sit down with her. When had any woman smiled at him in that way?

Discretely swallowing the lump in his throat, he moved to the offered seat and sat down; focussing on the bundle of books between them.

‘Do you have any thoughts on your desired fabric for the suit?’ He could feel her eyes on him, but he dared not to meet them. He hadn’t quite recovered from that smile that would be burned into his memory for a significant amount of time.

He had no idea about fashion or fabrics. ‘Wool?’

‘Great, a classic choice. Do you have any preference on the type of wool?’

Wool had _types_? He frowned, grinding his teeth. What was it about her that made him feel like an idiot? ‘I’m not sure that I follow. I’m not very familiar with fashion and fabric types’ he reluctantly revealed. He looked up at her in a moment of weakness.

She smiled even more brightly at him again, as if to convey that she wouldn’t laugh at him.

‘That’s quite alright, most people don’t know the different types!’ she beamed. ‘Our two most popular choices for wool are a British worsted weave’ she pulled out a book with an embossed navy cover, and opened it to show him the variety of fabrics inside. ‘and we also have an Italian virgin wool which feels softer, but has the same thread count.’ She pulled out another book, this one with a red cover and binding, and placed it side by side with the other book.

_Virgin_? Rather than looking at the fabric in the books, his mind wondered to Sansa, and wondering if _she_ was a virgin. _For fuck’s sake_ he chastised himself, trying to focus on the sample books before him.

‘Please, go ahead and feel the fabric. Is there one that feels more pleasing to touch?’ she interjected.

Rather than scattering his thoughts to the wind in the still room, the very thought of things that were ‘pleasing to the touch’ made him think more about the porcelain skin at the nape of her neck that he had seen when she was taking his measurements. Tensing his hands into fists, he internally shook away these scandalous, _dirty_ thoughts, and started to feel the fabric as instructed. He wondered if this was what Robert’s brain was like much of the time.

Focussing his thoughts, he started with the Italian _virgin_ (he cleared his throat at the thought,) wool. It felt smooth to the touch; fine. The weave of the fabric bore no resistance to his fingertips.

‘Have a feel of the weight of the fabric. The Italian wool feels a little thinner, lighter in comparison to the worsted. Some people prefer a lighter drape fabric.’

He reached across and felt a sample of the British wool. It was smooth to the touch as well, yet bore a little more texture. It felt slightly heavier in comparison. He spent several minutes touching each fabric, and was yet none the wiser to his preference.

He looked up at Sansa, who was waiting patiently looking at him with that serene, almost regal look on her face. _Gods she was lovely_. Trying to distract himself, he took more note of her own suit jacket that she was wearing. It looked similarly smooth, and appeared to have a lovely depth to it. It was tailored exquisitely, and it dawned on him that Sansa probably made that jacket for herself.

‘You jacket. Did you make it?’

She beamed at him. The entire room felt brighter, as if the sun had made an appearance in the room just for him, whilst the London grey drizzle continued outside in the street. ‘I did! We are encouraged to make our own suits for fittings in our favourite fabric, so that our clients can see first hand our attention to detail and skill. We like them to know that we will take as similar care with their orders.’

‘What is your favourite fabric? The fabric of your jacket?’ he maintained eye contact with her.

She looked town at the labels of her jacket and smiled. ‘It’s the British worsted wool in a tweed charcoal black. I do like the Italian wool, this is just my personal preference.’ She smiled at him again. ‘Here, have a feel of the fabric on a finished garment for reference.’

He watched her as she leant forward to remove her jacket, giving him the merest hint of her cleavage in the lovely black t shirt she wore. He swallowed again, as Sansa quickly proffered the jacket she had been wearing moments ago. Something about the gesture seemed to make the blood in his whole body gently hum, as he fingered the cloth, noting how it was still warm from her body heat. The fabric felt soft, the colour of the fabric appeared richer than the standard matte black of his own current suit. The grey and white pinstripe of the lining silk felt beautifully smooth, and completed the wool beautifully. The stitching, most of which was invisible to the untrained eye was beautiful and precise. _Perfect_. _Quite like its maker_.

‘It’s handsomely made.’

‘Thank you,’ she blushed prettily, ducking from his eye contact. ‘I try to make every suit with as much pride and care. She looked back up at him, smiling shyly. He was forced to swallow again, transfixed by her attention to him. His hands absentmindedly stroking the jacket, enjoying the feel of the fabric. Neither one of them made any move to break this connection, _whatever the hell it was_ , that seemed to have form between them since she closed the door just short of an hour before.

It was the errant sound of a taxi’s horn outside the window that seemed to spring Sansa from the reverie, who swallowed thickly and looked down at her jacket, before reaching underneath it for the book of British wools.

‘If you like this jacket, I can highly recommend the British worsted. It’s a delight to work with, and it wears well over time with little warping.’

He coughed in reply, reluctantly letting go of the jacket, _her_ jacket, and taking the book that she held; their fingers touching gently as she let go.

‘This is a tweed black, its not a traditional tweed which would show more flecks of colour within it, making it smart yet modern and versatile for many occasions.’ She turned the ‘pages’ of cloth in the book, finding the sample of cloth that matched her own. ‘It comes in a range of shades, including shades of black.’

Once more not trusting himself to speak, he simply nodded and studied the fabric intently, hoping she would break the silence for them.

‘Might I suggest the dark Prussian blue?’ she leafed through the fabrics to find a deep, rich blue that was so dark it would appear black, if it were not placed against a true ebony black. ‘I think it’s a good colour for you, it complements your natural colouring and skin tone. I think it brings out the colour of your eyes.’

Stannis _did not_ blush. The room was simply a little warm with the door closed. He was not a person that was susceptible to flattery from an attentive, gentle, professional (and _beautiful_ ) tailor, who just happened to be the daughter of a family friend of Robert.

Nevertheless, he felt acutely aware of her attention towards him, and felt strangely compelled to follow her suggestions, especially if it would please her.

‘A good suggestion. I…I think that is a good choice, yes.’ He dared to look at her. She was beaming at him again.

‘Great! That is perfect. I think you will be very pleased with the choice!’ she dotted down some details in her small notepad. ‘As for the style of the suit, I think a classic fit would be best, but as I mentioned earlier I think we can make your jacket and trouser slightly leaner and better fitting. It will result in a beautifully proportioned suit, one that will enhance and complement your striking figure.

_Striking?_ She looked across at him for confirmation. He simply nodded at her, as she made more jottings down in her notepad.

‘It will take me about two weeks to draft your measurements I have taken today and make your baste, that is your first rough suit before it is fully tailored. I will book you in for your first fitting in two weeks, at a time and date that suits you?’

‘Of course.’

‘Perfect. I will keep busy with this, and look so forward to seeing you in a fortnight!’

Not that he would voice it out loud, Stannis knew that he would be looking forward to his first fitting, much more than he first expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A baste is a garment roughly assembled for first fitting. It is held together with large, loose stitches in the fabric the client has chosen.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed it!


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